


DCVerse - And All the World Was Sparks

by DyrneKeeper



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyrneKeeper/pseuds/DyrneKeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fourth of July - Kurt remembers what he has worth celebrating. Fireworks, fluff, Frisbee, and frottage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DCVerse - And All the World Was Sparks

**Title** : And All the World Was Sparks  
 **Rating** : NC-17  
 **Pairings/Characters** : Kurt/Blaine, Finn  
 **Spoilers** : All of S3 is fair game.  
 **Warnings** : None  
 **Word Count** : 5,500

Summary: The Fourth of July - Kurt remembers what he has worth celebrating. Fireworks, fluff, Frisbee, and frottage.

 

  
A/N: Whoa look it's a fic-length piece! Because the Fourth of July was simply not a holiday I could let the DC!Verse pass up. Happy Independence Day to all you yanks, and happy (belated) Canada Day to all you Canucks. Have some happy Klaine :)

*

Sometimes, Kurt thinks, his dad keeps Blaine around just to help him light the grill.

It’s not that Blaine’s remarkably proficient at propane-powered appliances (that’s usually Kurt) or particularly adept at grilling (that prize is eternally Carole’s). But there’s something about the finicky old Coleman that responds easily to Blaine’s hands even while it leaves Burt grumbling and Kurt backing away, wide-eyed, from the rust and the grime.

His dad was in Ohio last year for the holiday so that means that this year is a DC Fourth. That, in turn, means that, tomorrow, the apartment’s little rooftop patio is going to be crammed with staffers and neighbors and service people and their children, and it’s going to be celebratory and loud. Right now, though, it’s the Friday before and it’s just them. Finn is in the kitchen, helping Carole with the marinade, and Kurt’s dad is out on the patio, doing that male-moral-support thing, standing next to the grill with his arms folded and chit-chatting while Blaine crouches on his haunches and gingerly turns knobs of side of the grill. Kurt, feeling remarkably provincial, is on a deck chair shucking corn husks into a trashcan.

“If I had wanted to spend the Fourth of July like an Ohio farmboy, I would have just stayed in Ohio,” he grumbles, and Blaine flicks him a smile as he clicks the ignition knob around.

“Not too late to send you back,” his dad mutters. There’s a hiss, and a click, and suddenly flames hum warmly in the belly of the grill. Blaine gives a victorious whoop and stands up, brushing his hands off on his shorts. “Need any help?”

Kurt tries to pick the strands of cornsilk off his wrists, his shirt, his shorts, his ankles. God this stuff gets everywhere. “Get a bowl of water for the corn? They should soak before we put them on the grill.”

“Sure,” Blaine bends to kiss the side of his forehead, and Kurt thinks Blaine’s fingers are at his temple just to soothe but they come away dangling...more cornsilk. “Missed a spot,” Blaine grins, and then he’s pushing the sliding door open and asking Carole where the big blue bowl is.

Kurt takes the few moments’ pause to check his phone. There are a few updates on the fundraiser, but things are slowing down at work for the holiday weekend. Kate had nearly had to push him out of the office yesterday but everyone else had been long gone, and Kurt’s not sure if he’s looking forward to the slower-paced slog of summer. As he thumbs through his inbox a new message pops up, this one from Rachel, and Kurt glances at the tall silhouette in the kitchen before he taps it open. It’s short, just checking that they made it to DC safely, with a brief and scathing commentary on the food options available at the Denver airport. Kurt will call her tomorrow, but for now just types back “DC as hot and stagnant as ever. Give Mercedes a hug for me if/when you make it to LA! Plenty of vegan options here if you change your mind.” By the time he hits _send_ Blaine is returning, walking carefully so he doesn’t slosh the water, and Finn comes out to the porch after him carrying a plate of chicken and hamburgers, and Carole brings up the rear with a pitcher of lemonade and a stack of cups.

*

Kurt’s not sure what time it is when he wakes up, mouth parched from the fan blowing over from Blaine’s side of the bed. This isn’t the same apartment his dad had started with when he first got elected. With both Finn and Kurt out of the house Carole had started spending more and more time in Washington with Burt, and the tiny efficiency had quickly become too small and too inconvenient. There’s a guest bedroom, now - usually Kurt and Blaine’s, when they’re both here, and Finn had refused Kurt’s attempts to let him use it this time. Kurt’s still more used to the old layout, and at the end of the hallway he has to blink in the dark for a second before he remembers which way the kitchen is.

The light’s on in there, and the soft sounds of someone moving around in socked feet. When Kurt walks Finn looks up at him over his arm as he contemplates the contents of the refrigerator. “Hey,” he says quietly, and Kurt nods at him as he pads over to the cupboard to get a glass.

Finn pulls a container out of the fridge, and when he kicks the fridge closed and turns around his dog tags clink softly. Kurt hates those dog tags. He fills his glass at the sink and leans against the counter, sipping slowly, while Finn navigates the microwave. When his leftovers have apparently been heated to satisfaction he nods towards the sliding door. “Come outside with me?”

Kurt shrugs, and refills his glass, and follows Finn out to the porch.

It’s cool outside, but the air is heavy with humidity. Finn finds the lighter by the grill and touches it to the candles on the table and tucked by the railing, and soon they’re both in deck chairs, heads tipped back looking at the sky, surrounded by the little warm tongues of flames and the spicy summer-sharp bite of citronella. It’s quiet, quieter than New York ever gets, and Kurt fights off the traitorous urge to enjoy it, to relax into the calm darkness that feels more like the summer nights he remembers from childhood.

“It’s quiet.” Finn breaks the silence first.

“Not for long. Tomorrow’s going to be crazy.”

Kurt hears Finn tilt his head on the chair to look at him. “It’s really going to be that busy?”

Kurt snorts softly. “You’ve clearly never been in DC for the Fourth. It’s a madhouse. Blaine’s going to want to go down to the Mall to see the fireworks, and Dad’s going to want me to “network.” He’s still holding his water glass in one hand, so he throws up the air quotes with just his left.

“That sounds like fun.”

Kurt shrugs. “It’s going to be hot, and crowded, and noisy.” He tips his head to meet Finn’s eyes. “It’s right up your alley, actually.”

Finn grins. “I think it’ll be great.”

Kurt’s stomach tries to feel guilty about being resentful when Finn is so excited, tries to ride his enthusiasm instead, and ends up tying itself in a low confused knot. Finn seems to be able to read his low-grade turmoil, and rolls his shoulders against the back of the chair. “You can’t see many stars here. One time in Basic we were out on the hills overnight, and it was warm enough that we didn’t need tents, so we just lay out there under the sky. It was incredible - I’ve never seen that many stars before, not even out in the country at home.” Finn’s voice is low, and familiar, and Kurt’s stomach adds another knot with how much he’s missed him, how much time he has left to miss him before his four years are up.

“It reminded me of that time that Rachel took me out to the park to sing for your dad, back when he was - sick.” Finn continues. “Just - like I was small. Not insignificant or anything, just - small. And kind of scared, but I felt like there really was a - a plan, for life, no matter who was the one planning it, you know? And it made me feel better, because - look, Kurt.”

Kurt twists sideways and rests his head against the back of the chair; he’s too tired to try to hold it up. Finn continues. “I know it really sucked when you didn’t get into NYADA. And I know you’re not crazy about all the stuff you have to do here, but - something I learned, in boot camp. Or wish I had,” he chuckles softly. “Because it would have made the first six months a lot easier. It’s okay to be somewhere you don’t want to be, or do something you don’t want to do, because you don’t stop being you, you know? And it doesn’t mean that you’ll never be able to do what you want, where you want, just -”

“Finn.” Finn falls silent. Kurt scratches a finger against the slats of the chair. “Please don’t tell me to make the best of it, or suck it up, or -”

“No, man, I wasn’t,” Finn says, but he sounds defensive, and Kurt feels guilty all over again, the crap Finn has put himself through, willingly, the danger he has put himself in, willingly, and here Kurt is whining because of an old failure he’s long since made up for. He’s about to open his mouth to apologize when there’s the soft screel of the door, and they both look up to see Blaine standing in the doorway, looking half-awake and frowning.

“I woke up, couldn’t find you,” he says to Kurt, his voice low and sleep-scratchy.

“Sorry, I got up to get some water, and Finn and I started talking. I’ll be back in just a minute.” Kurt shifts again to tell Finn that he’s going to bed, that maybe they can talk about this later? But Blaine says “No, ‘sokay,” and shuffles out onto the porch. Kurt moves over on the lounge to make room, and Blaine slides in next to him, fidgeting until he’s comfortable with his head tipped against Kurt’s shoulder. “Whatchya guys talking about?”

Kurt shrugs with one shoulder, careful not to jostle Blaine’s head. “Stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Deep_ stuff,” Finn adds, grinning, and Kurt really doesn’t know how he does it, how life just always seems _good_ to Finn, no matter how much it must suck sometimes. He always manages to make moods lighter, somehow.

Blaine slides his fingers against Kurt’s, and his body is sleep-warm in the cool night air. Not that Kurt’s life sucks all that much either, really. He smiles and squeezes Blaine’s hand. “Totally deep stuff.”

“I was telling him about all the stars you can see when you’re out in the mountains at night. And how he can be amazing in New York and DC at the same time.”

“He already is amazing in New York and DC,” Blaine says, and turns his head to kiss Kurt’s shoulder before settling back. “And he knows it, don’t let him fool you.”

Kurt _hmphs_ , but Blaine’s eyes are gentle with their smile in the dark, and he doesn’t really mean it. He just can’t ever explain it, why being good at something doesn’t mean he _wants_ to be, how his interests and energy are finite and the things that need doing never are, how he hasn’t ever gotten an explanation for why it’s all his responsibility to do anyway.

“How’s the other Washington, Finn?” Blaine asks, after a moment. It’s not that they don’t talk about the army around Carole; this is never going to be a family where things get swept under the rug or ignored. But Kurt and Blaine both know how awkward Finn still feels about it around his mom, how guilty he feels for choosing this and _enjoying_ this career when it worries her so much. They also know that if things were really bad he never would tell his mom, never would want her to worry any more than she already does.

“It’s good - no, really, it is,” he adds, when Kurt gives him a _you know you can tell us_ look. “It’s definitely better than being in Georgia. There are some really good guys are Fort Lewis, and the mountains - they’re really spectacular, you guys should really come visit.” It’s an offer he’s made before, one he makes every time they talk, and Kurt for a moment considers considering it. They’ve never been to the West Coast, and for the last four years he’s hardly been anywhere except the between the scalene triangle of Lima, New York, and Washington he’s traced and retraced, by plane and car and train, like a doodle on a school desk carved deep by years of drawing and re-drawing by generations of students. It would be good to get away, maybe. Fly away, find a clear patch, start something new.

“I know, I keep trying to get Kurt to set a time so we can go out there, see you and Mercedes and maybe stop over at Sam’s on the way. Did you know he has a girlfriend now?”

“Yeah, he mentioned that. Amy, right?”

“Aida,” Kurt corrects.

“Oh, right.”

“She’s a photographer - have you seen any of her pictures?”

Finn hasn’t, and Blaine has his cellphone in the pocket of his pajama pants just in case Kurt decided to call him from wherever he was inside the apartment, apparently. He leans across the space between their chairs to flip through photos for Finn. He’s starting to wake up; Kurt can feel the energy in the body beside him thrum to life, and he nestles into it and lets them carry the conversation. Flying away and starting something new just means adding one more thing to care about, because he knows by now he’s never going to be able to let go of the old. Colorado and California and Washington State might be beautiful, but they’d become anchors, too.

He snugs an arm around Blaine’s waist and rests his eyes, enjoying the calm of the night, the easy conversation between Blaine and Finn and the comfort of their familiar voices, remembers falling asleep like this on their back porch at home on late summer evenings when Blaine didn’t have a curfew and Finn didn’t have to be up early for football camp. He doesn’t realize he’s started to drift off until Blaine jostles his shoulder gently. “Kurt? Hey, sweetheart, you still with us?”

He blinks his eyes open to find that at least two of the candles have guttered out, and he groans and shuts his eyes again. Blaine is warm and so _comfortable_ , he doesn’t ever want to move.

Blaine chuckles, low and warm, and Kurt can feel the hum of it in his own chest, pressed this close. “I think I’d better get him to bed. What time do you want to leave tomorrow night?”

“Leave? Leave where?” Kurt sits up and begins to contemplate the complex application of physics that is swinging his legs off the edge of the chair.

“We’re going to get fireworks!”

“You’re _what?!_ ” Kurt is wide awake in an instant and stands up too quickly. He blinks through the headrush and then rounds on Blaine. “ _Fireworks_?”

“Yeah!” Blaine’s grin is excited. “Finn says he knows this place -”

“You are _not_ going to set off fireworks here, Finn Hudson, they are _dangerous_ , you will get yourselves killed and I am _not_ going to explain this one to your mother -”

“Hey, hey,” Finn holds his hands out placatingly. “We’re not going to set them off, okay?”

“Then why -”

“One of my buddies has a place out near Frederick, way out in the country, he’s having a party tomorrow night - after the one here, don’t worry - and asked me to pick up fireworks for him.” At Kurt’s skeptical eyebrow he goes on. “It’s okay, they’re totally careful about them, and they have a ton of land so it’s not like they’re setting them off over houses or anything.”

“Does Dad know you’re doing this?”

“Yeah! And Mom. They said it was fine - well, they told me to not be stupid, but otherwise that it was fine.”

“I mean, not being there for the party tomorrow night.”

Finn shrugs. “They were okay with that, too. They’re going to be busy entertaining and schmoozing and whatever, and it’s not like anyone’s going to miss us. I’d rather see my guys. Besides, I thought you didn’t want to be here tomorrow night anyway.” Finn has always had a bad poker face, and Kurt wonders, for the first time, if he’s not the only one who doesn’t like to stand out in the crowd here, if Finn doesn’t want to show off the dog tags he doesn’t know how to take off, doesn’t want to have to answer too many questions from people who can never understand.

Blaine gives Kurt a knowing look. “Come on, Kurt, it’ll be fun!”

“This from the boy who hid my matches after the Phantom of the Opera incident.” Kurt sighs, but he can feel a weight lifting off his chest. “Fine - I’ll go. If you two promise to be _so_ careful.”

“We will!” They chorus in unison, and then look at each other and laugh.

“We will, Blaine says again, slinging an arm over Kurt’s shoulder. “Seriously, though, Finn, what time do you want to leave? We should help Burt get the barbecue set up before we go, so he doesn’t have to scramble once the mob shows up.”

“Alright. Say seven or so? We’ll be here for dinner but then out of the city before the crowds get too bad.”

“Seven sound good?” Blaine asks Kurt. Kurt runs through his mental checklist of everything he has to do to help their parents get ready - seven should be fine.

“Sure.”

“Awesome!” Finn’s grin cracks on a yawn. “Okay, I’m exhausted. Have a good night, you two.”

“Goodnight, Finn.”

“Night.”

Kurt blows out the candles and stands for a moment by the porch railing, contemplating the quiet street below. Blaine comes up beside him and leans his forearms on the rail and follows his gaze down the street, and then looks at Kurt. “Think you’ll be alright?”

It takes a moment for Kurt to get it, but when he does he laughs, and hides his face on Blaine’s shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”

Blaine slips his arms around Kurt’s waist and hugs him. “That’s why you shouldn’t incorrige me.”

“Blaaaine,” Kurt whines.

“Yes, dear?”

“You’re awful. Now, are you going to take me to bed or not?”

Blaine’s grin is a little bit wicked, and he lets his arms drop to take Kurt’s hand.

*

They’re quiet in bed; they have to be, with Kurt’s parents in the room on one side of them and Finn on the old fold-out couch in the study on the other side. Months of nights in their beds in Ohio, and with roommates in New York, though, have taught them how to move, and breathe, and be, together. Blaine stands at the side of the bed and pushes Kurt gently down on it, sideways - the bed creaks less that way - and climbs up over him, straddling Kurt’s hips while Kurt threads his fingers into Blaine’s hair and pulls him down for a kiss. The lube is hidden in a pillow case, because they can’t risk the squeak and click of the latch on Kurt’s bedside table drawer, and his dad does sometimes come searching for a pen in here, and he may know that they have sex here but he doesn’t need to _know._ Kurt reaches an arm out and gropes for it, and when his fingers find the cool-slick tube he tips Blaine off of him and crawls on top, kissing down his neck as his fingers find Blaine’s fly and start unbuttoning.

Blaine is slick and hot around his fingers, and Kurt props himself on his free elbow and leans up to kiss him, to swallow down Blaine’s heavy breaths. When Blaine’s ready Kurt pushes in slowly, rocking gently into him while Blaine breathes and arches under him and the rhythm is slow and metronome-steady, no rush, no press, just calm smooth movement and their eyes on each other in the dark.

Blaine comes first with a silent heavy gasp that Kurt can feel to his fingertips, and then Kurt is lost in the heady hot-white rush.

When he blinks his eyes back open Blaine strokes a hand across his shoulder, dragging in the tacky sweat-sheen, and he looks serious, and sleepy, and happy. “Love you,” he whispers, and watches Kurt with calm dark eyes as Kurt cleans them up and rolls them onto the pillows.

“Love you too.” Kurt curls up behind Blaine and snugs an arm around him, dropping a kiss into his hair. Sleep is heavy in his limbs and it’s bliss to drift off like this, skin to skin and wrapped around Blaine.

*

The party the next day isn’t as bad as Kurt had feared, though maybe that’s just because he knows he’s getting out of there later. By the time the barbecue is mostly over he’s lost track of Blaine, but Finn is starting to look fidgety, and keeps checking his phone for the time.

At a quarter to seven Finn finds him in the kitchen cutting more fruit for a salad, and sets a stack of dirty casserole dishes down next to the sink. “You ready to go?”

“Just - let me finish this watermelon. There should be another carton of blueberries in the fridge, can you pull those out for me?”

Finn dumps the blueberries in the colander and rinses them in the sink while Kurt digs out the last of the good watermelon and drops the melon baller in the dishwasher. Finn’s kitchen-competent enough to at least be trusted to mix together a fruit salad, so Kurt finds a clean wooden spoon and leaves him to it while he goes in search of Blaine.

He finds him in the living room, deep in conversation with somebody’s aide - Kurt’s lost track of all the Ohio congresspeople and their staff who have showed up at various points throughout the day - and extricates him without offending anyone or getting trapped in a forty-minute exchange of pleasantries and/or opinions on the latest bill on the floor, which he counts as a win. Ten minutes later they’re in Finn’s rental car, fighting the holiday traffic with the radio turned up high.

Kurt stays by the car when they find the white tent on a side-road somewhere in West Virginia. He folds his arms uneasily over his chest and leans on the too-warm driver’s side door while Finn and Blaine lean their heads together, side-by-side, comparing - what, Kurt isn’t even sure, but discussing _something_ , easy together like brothers while Kurt frets and watches the breeze tug the tent sides and the long grass.

The sky is a high soft blue, and the fireflies are winking on along the side of the road when Finn finally pulls into a long gravel driveway. There are helium balloons tied to the mailbox, bobbing and straining on their ribbons, blue and white and red. As the little crowd comes into view over a small ridge Kurt pulls his hand out of Blaine’s - these may be Finn’s buddies, but they are army guys, and DADT was a few years ago but it’s still rural Maryland.

Finn catches the movement in the rearview mirror, and looks over his shoulder at them as he pulls into a parking spot alongside a pickup truck with an After the Rapture Can I Have Your Car? bumper sticker. “Seriously, dude, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you - sure?” A few people have detached themselves from the group on the front lawn and are converging on their car. And Kurt has been in New York for years and knows better than to judge people by how they look but these guys all look exactly like the McKinley football players, with the added advantage of heavy weapons training.

Finn actually looks a little hurt. “I wouldn’t be friends with them otherwise.”

And that’s something to ponder later, maybe, but a big blonde guy with the requisite crew cut bangs on the hood and pulls the door open for Finn, who leaps out smiling and catches him in a bear hug. Kurt and Blaine follow, albeit more sedately.

“Hey, Finn, glad you made it! Is this the brother?”

“Yeah! Hey, Chris, this is Kurt, and this is his boyfriend, Blaine. Kurt, Blaine - Chris. We were in basic together and he’s heading up to Fort Lewis next month.”

Kurt tenses but Chris doesn’t even bat an eyebrow, just shakes his hand. “It’s great to meet you guys, we’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things?” Blaine asks, as Chris offers him a hand in return.

“Mostly,” Chris winks, and Kurt doesn’t have time to give Finn a what did you tell them? look as Chris introduces around the rest of the little group that’s converged on the car, a whirl of names and faces that Kurt is hopeless at keeping track of.

“Alright,” another guy, not as tall as Chris but definitely sturdier - Jeff? - claps his hands together. “There’s drinks out back, and Tania’s got the grill going still if you want anything to eat. We were just about to pull out the disc - do either of you guys play Frisbee?”

Which is how Kurt finds himself on the back patio of a stranger’s house in the middle of a cornfield as the sun goes down on the Fourth of July, watching Finn and Blaine and a dozen other people tear up and down the wide backyard, laughing and shouting.

“Ahh, another Frisbee widower?” One of the girls plops down in the chair next to him and winces as Finn almost gets plowed by a girl who reminds Kurt shockingly much of Lauren, in personality if not in build - she’s more Rachel’s size than anything.

Kurt rolls his eyes over at her and props his chin on his fist. “Sadly. Finn got him into it the first time he was home on leave. He’s been addicted ever since.”

The girl - Kurt thinks her name is Helen, thinks she’s Tania’s sister, is fairly certain that Tania is married to Jeff and that Jeff and Chris are best friends and that they’re at Chris’s house - grins. “Michael was the same way. I keep telling him to find a team, there are plenty in the city, but he just likes running around with his guys. Which one is yours, again?”

It’s easy to find Blaine, on the field, his face bright and excited as he jumps to catch a pass. “Blaine’s there, the one in the - oh, nice catch. In the Columbia t-shirt.”

Helen hums appreciatively. “Oh, very nice. Mike’s there, in the green.” She points to the running figure Blaine flicks the Frisbee to. “So, you guys are just in town for the Fourth, right? Finn mentioned you came down from New York.”

Kurt nods. “Yeah, just for this week.”

“What do you do in New York?”

“School. Um, performing arts. Blaine’s doing political science.”

“Yeah? No poli sci for the Congressman’s boy?”

Kurt smiles, tries not to make it tight. “No, I don’t think that’s for me. The theatre was always my thing. I work for a nonprofit, though, that does some good work in the city, so I’m still involved. And Blaine never lets me get too far out of the loop. Hey, speak of the devil,” he says, as Blaine jogs up to them, sweaty and happy-looking. “How’s the game?”

“Really great,” Blaine grins, and leans down to kiss Kurt quickly. “Jeff says it’s almost dark enough for the fireworks - do you want to go down the hill and pick a good spot to watch?”

“Sure.” Kurt turns to Helen to excuse himself, and she waves him off.

“I’ll see you guys down there - I’m on fire duty this year, so I’ve got to get the hose unrolled.”

Blaine offers Kurt a hand and pulls him up from the chair, and doesn’t let go as they walk across the backyard, where Finn and the Rachel-Lauren hybrid are arguing over some finer point of the game, and Chris and a few of the other guys are dumping ice out of coolers and carrying them back to the garage. As they crest the small hill at the back of the yard and start down the other side the noise of their chatter and laughter fades away, and it’s just the quiet open country night, crickets singing softly in the rustling grass and the faint buzz of excitement of the holiday behind them.

When they’re a good distance away from the house, Blaine stops and tugs Kurt off the path. Kurt can see the dark shapes of Jeff and his brother setting up equipment a few hundred yards off to the west, the sky still streaked red low on the horizon behind them.

Blaine sits on the grass and, when Kurt’s lowered himself cross-legged beside him, stretches out on his back, arms folded behind his head as he looks up at the sky. “Wow, you can see a lot of stars from here.”

Kurt hooks his arms around his knees and tips his head back. “It’s not even that dark yet.” He feels calloused fingers slide across his wrist, tugging, and when he looks over at Blaine he’s smiling. “The view’s even better from here. C’mon.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Kurt huffs, but he goes anyway, leaning back and letting his head rest on Blaine’s chest.

Blaine drops his hand and starts stroking his fingers through Kurt’s hair, slow and soothing. The evening is wide and dark and still in a way that the city never is, full of life rustling low in the grass and humming warm in the house over the hill, but life that isn’t rushed, or rushing, life that exists to create beauty, or enjoy it.

Blaine’s thumb slides warm over Kurt’s forehead, and Kurt can feel the hum of contentment in his chest. “It’s beautiful,” Kurt agrees, and rolls so that he can prop himself on an elbow and look down at Blaine, and his eyes dark and happy in the starlight. Blaine’s chest shifts under Kurt’s hand as he reaches up, and his hand is gentle when he cradles Kurt’s jaw and brushes a thumb across his cheek. “I love you,” he says quietly, and Kurt needs to kiss him, so he does, leans down and seals his mouth over Blaine’s.

All the world is warmth; the gentle July breeze soft around them, Blaine’s blood-warm, sweat-tacky skin under his palms, the warm slick slide of their mouths together and Kurt lets himself forget all the places he isn’t right now and loses himself in where he is, in Blaine’s kiss and in his arms.

Kurt doesn’t hear the first whistling shriek of the rocket, but his eyes fly open at the bang of the explosion, and then Blaine’s thumb is stroking at the back of his neck, soothing through the low thunder that echoes through the ground. There’s another flash and bang and the first trail of smoke, but Blaine pulls him down into another breathless kiss and Kurt loses himself in it; in the scream of the rockets; the rolling crackle as the sparks flare and die and the light of them reflected in Blaine’s eyes, the flashes of green and gold that catch the hazel; the taste of sulfur that drifts in the breeze and clings to their lips and their tongues. He loses time, drifts in the universe that is only light and sound and Blaine, holding him steady, driving him crazy.

A particularly loud bang cracks overhead and Blaine rolls them, presses Kurt into the grass and trails his mouth down to Kurt’s neck, nips and sucks gently and his hands wander, inch up Kurt’s shirt and stroke at the skin underneath. Kurt gasps and has to arch into his body, wraps his arms around Blaine’s body and clings and presses, wants to be closed, closer. He’s hard but it’s not about that, he just wants Blaine’s hands on him, his skin under Kurt’s palms and his mouth on Kurt and his _warmth_ in this night of warmth, close and alive and Kurt is in love, so in love.

When the flashes and flares finally crescendo and then die the night is still, and calm again, and Blaine brushes the hair back from Kurt’s forehead and kisses him again, softly, before flopping back on the grass next to him.

Kurt nudges his foot against Blaine’s ankle. “Were they everything you thought they would be?”

Blaine tips his head over, raises an eyebrow. “Baby, I don’t _need_ the Fourth of July to see fireworks.”

Kurt lets it hang there, for an instant, and then Blaine rolls away laughing when Kurt pounces for such an awful, awful line.

“Blaine you are terrible oh my god -”

Blaine gets to his knees and catches Kurt’s wrists, holds him there and grins in the crackling beautiful night. “But you love me?”

Kurt laughs, untangles his hands from Blaine’s grasp, wraps them around his neck. “Always love you,” he breathes, and kisses him, and fireflies blink echoes of fireworks in the smoky-still night.

<>  
  



End file.
